Poor Impulse Control - Spideypool
by ThanksIllPass
Summary: "Hey, baby boy," Wade singsonged, closing the door behind him. Peter frowned and looked at Wade with blatant suspicion. "Don't baby boy me, Wade. What did you do this time?" / High School AU - BDP!Wade


Flash broke Peter's arm on Wednesday after school. The doctor put a cast on it, Gwen and Harry signed it trying not to look too sad and broken, and Peter went home. Aunt May was staying with her friend until Sunday. Peter forgot what for. It could have been playing either nurse or squash, Peter never knew with Aunt May. He had decided not to call her and apologize later. He just didn't want her to come back home, worried sick and even more furious. He needed some time alone. He'd like to say to think, but no. He just wanted to wallow in peace.

When his phone buzzed on the coffee table, Peter instinctively reached for it with his right hand and hissed in pain. He reached for it again with his left hand and looked at the screen through tears that welled up in his eyes. It was a text from Wade.

_Can I come over?_

Peter sighed. It was ten in the morning and Wade should be at school right now. Peter said as much in the text back.

_Suspended_, was the reply. Peter rubbed his forehead and let out a frustrated groan. What did Wade do this time?

Wade was his friend. At first, it was only an unspoken agreement – Peter didn't avoid Wade and Wade didn't bully Peter. They were friendly. But it evolved into real friendship. Wade got rather clingy if you'd let him. Not that Peter minded. He liked Wade and hated seeing him get in trouble all the time.

Wade was, at first glance, a typical high school delinquent. His face was scarred, so the kids at school were afraid of him. He constantly came up with crazy backstories of gang wars, juvies and drug abuse to keep this fear alive and kicking. The teachers usually let him be, but from time to time Wade would do something even they couldn't ignore.

_I have tacos_, said another text, and Peter realized he forgot to reply. Peter often forgot things around Wade. He was very… thought-consuming. Overwhelming. _Fine_. As soon as Peter hit send the doorbell rang. Peter groaned and let his head fall back on the headrest. He texted Wade to come in, and soon his house was filled with the smell of tacos. Peter's stomach grumbled. It was hard to make breakfast with one hand, so he kinda gave up.

"Hey, baby boy," Wade singsonged, closing the door behind him. Peter frowned and looked at Wade with blatant suspicion.

"Don't baby boy me, Wade. What did you do this time?"

Wade sighed and sat beside Peter, handing him his taco. Peter unwrapped it slowly and started eating, because he was really hungry, and because he knew not to push Wade. He was moody and unpredictable, especially when he "forgot to take his meds," and Peter could only imagine that was why Wade got suspended.

Wade was diagnosed with BPD. He said the medication helped him with impulse control but sometimes got him depressed, so he simply didn't take them from time to time. He told Peter about this because he couldn't tell his doctor and the voices didn't care. Peter suspected that Wade added the voices part just to spook him. Or distract him from the fact he put off meds in the first place.

"I broke Flash Thompson's arm," Wade said suddenly, and Peter almost dropped his taco. He slowly turned his head to look at Wade. His scars danced on his skin as he chewed slowly, methodically, consciously.

Why would Wade _do that?_ Flash was a star, _of course_ they would suspend him. It's a miracle they hadn't _expelled_ him!

"It's not like I care, and he broke yours, and he was bragging about it, I have poor impulse control okay?" Wade muttered defensively. Of course Peter had said that out loud.

"Wade," Peter tried, but he couldn't find the right words. Or any words for that matter. Wade was… overbearing. He was too much for Peter.

Wade was a flirt when you got close enough and he was scary regardless of the distance. He was sad most of the time but he also had a great laughter going with an awful sense of humor. Sometimes he talked to himself and sometimes he didn't talk to anyone at all. And he was clingy and pushy and annoying and he brought him tacos in the morning when he missed school and he broke people's arms for him and Peter didn't know what to do.

"Are you gonna eat that?" Wade's voice startled Peter out of his thoughts. It also startled a nervous laugh out of Peter. He couldn't help it.

Ironically, Wade's randomness was something familiar for Peter. Something steady and grounding. Peter smirked and took a bite of his taco quite theatrically if he might say so himself. He started chewing it up really slowly, making obscene noises. He was going to explain he hadn't had breakfast as soon as he swallowed, but he almost chocked when he saw the way Wade was looking at him.

His eyes were gleaming with something Peter couldn't exactly pinpoint. He could only say with all certainty that no one had ever looked at him like that. Wade's eyes roamed Peter's face, from his eyes through his lips to finally stop at his throat. Peter felt extremely self-conscious when he swallowed the food; he could feel his cheeks growing hot. Wade blinked slowly, and when he opened his eyes again, the weird gleam was gone, replaced by the usual emptiness.

Wade's eyes almost never smiled, that's why it was difficult for Peter to watch Wade interact with people. It was just really _sad _that his eyes never matched his smile. That he was faking so much, so often. It made Peter's stomach churn sometimes. Wade never looked half as ugly as when he was smiling at some stranger; this artificial twist of lips, a glimpse of white teeth, when his eyes looked dead.

They didn't usually look dead when he was looking at Peter. No, Wade looked at Peter with different eyes. It was flattering, that Peter, of all people, was able to bring a bit of life in Wade's eyes. Peter loved it and hated it at the same time, because it gave him false hope. Peter might have liked Wade a bit too much, and Wade didn't seem to be interested in anything more than friendship. Peter got that.

"Does it hurt?" Wade asked, pointing at Peter's cast with his chin.

"No," Peter lied, dropping his eyes to the cast, a shadow of smile on his lips. He still couldn't believe that Wade broke Flash's arm. No one had ever done anything that extreme for Peter's sake. Not that Peter approved of violence, but there was this little voice that was quietly whooping with joy in the back of his head.

"Liar liar pants on fire," Wade muttered in a resigned tone and got up from the couch. "Do you need anything? A pillow, a blanket, a scratch?" Peter snorted and his stomach growled again, this stopped being funny the first time it happened. Wade cleared his throat to hide the chuckle that escaped him. "I don't really know how to cook, but I could go back for more tacos. Or I could make pancakes? I'm gonna make pancakes. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day."

"I'll help," Peter offered hurriedly, standing up, but Wade pushed him back on the couch and made a warning noise.

"No, you stay put. That's what cripples do."

"God, you're awful. I can't believe the things that come out of your mouth sometimes. Do you have no filter?"

"Actually no, you should know by now!" Wade winked and disappeared into to kitchen, and soon Peter heard him rummage through the shelves and cabinets in search of ingredients. Suddenly, he heard something fall to the floor with a deafening clank and cringed.

"Don't break or burn anything, asshole!" Peter shouted after him and leaned back on the couch, running his good hand through his hair. Wade barked obediently and Peter laughed. Idiot.

Peter wasn't a big fun of doing nothing. Sitting like that on the couch, listening to noise from the kitchen, and mindlessly staring at his cast wasn't really his thing. He couldn't be blamed for getting off the couch and heading to the kitchen in two minutes flat. He leaned against the door frame and watched Wade making breakfast. He pushed away the feelings the image evoked in him, it wasn't healthy.

Wade's jacket was thrown haphazardly on the chair, and he was only wearing a red t-shirt, far too tight for Peter's comfort. He watched Wade's wide firm back and naked scared arms flex as he moved the frying pan and spatula with practiced ease. Peter wanted to _touch_. His throat went dry so he cleared it, and Wade looked at him over his arm and smirked.

"Let me guess, your butt was itching too, so you couldn't sit still for twenty minutes."

"You're right as always," Peter deadpanned. "Are you gonna scratch it for me too?"

Wade chuckled and turned back to his pancakes. Peter sighed and sat down on a chair, putting his elbow on the table and resting his head on his hand. This was nice. Just sitting on a chair, listening to the noise and staring at Wade. It was different, okay? Watching Wade wasn't doing nothing, okay? It was an _effort_. It was an effort to just keep watching and not touching. On second thought, Peter didn't want to that after all. He closed his eyes, groaning softly, and let his head slide down his forearm and rest on the table. This was hopeless.

Wade put a stack of pancakes on the table, barely missing Peter's face. Rude much? Peter gave Wade his best unimpressed look and reached out to take a fork from Wade's hand. Their fingers brushed and Peter ignored it like the mature and reasonable young adult he was. His inner irresponsible and horny teenager screamed in agony somewhere in the very pit of his soul. He was about to ask why he didn't get a knife, but then he remembered. _His arm was broken_. Right.

No big deal, he could manage with fork alone; he wouldn't let a pile of pancakes defeat him. He stabbed the first pancake and the fork felt weird in his hand. Something was wrong with the angle._His right arm was broken._ Right. He struggled for a bit and he finally managed to lift the fork with a piece of pancake to his mouth but he almost took his eye out in the process.

"Here, let me," Wade said with a chuckle. He moved his chair from across the table closer to Peter and unceremoniously took the fork from Peter's hand.

"No," Peter squeaked. No. No way in hell would he let Wade feed him. "Absolutely out of the que-"

His protest was cut off when Wade shoved the fork into Peter's mouth, hitting his teeth and scraping the roof of his mouth. Peter cringed and his eyes watered. Ignoring the fact that his mouth was still full, he started swearing at Wade.

"That's what you get for resisting," Wade said in his best paternal tone, as Peter swallowed. "Now stop squirming and let me feed you, Petey."

If Peter's eyes would go any wider they would probably pop out of his sockets. Wade was getting a kick out of this.

"You're getting a kick out of it you pervert," Peter squealed. Wade laughed and patted Peter's cheek. Peter watched Wade cut his pancake with loathing. This was so humiliating. Especially in the moment when Wade swirled the fork and poorly imitated an engine noise. Peter swatted Wade's knee and pouted. "Forget it. I'm not gonna say _ah _either."

"Spoilsports."

After a few bites Peter sucked it up and stopped fussing. They were silent, and Peter was determined to keep his eyes on anything but Wade – this was embarrassing enough as it was. His arm was itching under the cast and it started to slowly drive him crazy. Before he knew it, the fingers of his left hand were desperately trying to reach skin under the cast. Wade suddenly grabbed his hand and pried if off his forearm. Without saying anything, he walked over the cutlery drawer and came back with a butter knife.

"No," Peter tried to protest. "Don't. I'm not supposed to scratch the skin."

"So?" Wade asked with a wink. "I wasn't supposed to break that douchebag's arm, but it still felt good."

Peter felt himself blush as Wade gently took his arm and slid the knife under the cast. The cold smooth texture worked like a balm on his itching skin. He sighed involuntarily and it came out more like a moan to be honest. The knife's gentle movement stopped and Peter looked at Wade impatiently. Wade's eyes were closed and he was taking deep, apparently calming, breaths. Peter waited though it, like he always did.

When Wade's eyes opened again, they looked tired. But Wade was smiling at him. Peter smiled back uncertainly and wriggled a bit closer to Wade. He remembered that Wade had once told him that Peter calmed him just by being close. It was the nicest thing anyone had ever said about Peter. Peter was pretty sure that had been the exact moment when his hopeless crush on Wade started. Wade stiffened a little and took away the knife. Peter suppressed a disappointed whine.

"I should go get the blow dryer yeah scratching could infect the skin just let me bring where do you keep blow dryers which one is your favorite" Wade rambled, clenching his fingers around thin air.

Peter raised slowly and carefully put his good hand on Wade's shoulder. Wade's eyes snapped to Peter's and he grabbed Peter's face in both hands and kissed him.

Peter's head was swimming. He had never done this before, and he was absolutely mortified, but he acted on instinct. He tightened his hand on Wade's shoulder and kissed back. It wasn't perfect; it was too dry, too stiff, too uncomfortable. Peter loved every second of that kiss.

Wade finally broke the kiss and rested his forehead on Peter's. Peter couldn't bring himself to open his eyes, not yet. He could feel Wade's warm and slightly labored breath on his lips. Peter swallowed nervously and took a deep breath.

"Why did you do it?" he asked softly. "Why? Why now? Why me?"

Wade was silent for a moment and it forced Peter to look at him. His eyes were closed and there was a delicate smile ghosting on his lips. When he opened his eyes, Peter's breath hitched. He didn't need any answers now. Now he knew everything.

Because Wade's smile had finally reached his eyes.

"I have poor impulse control."


End file.
